


an unfinished life

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: A broken former Director of Magical Security and a recovering Obscurial find their way to a healing of sorts – and to each other – one step at a time.





	an unfinished life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ingu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingu/gifts).



> Firstly, this monstrosity wouldn't exist without the support of the twitter and tumblr crew. Most notably the cheerleading courtesy of [@ingu](https://ingu.tumblr.com/)~
> 
> Secondly, I mention that Percival's wand is not a Jonker creation due to [this post](http://wandmore.tumblr.com/post/155044953992/percival-graves-wand). Very intriguing stuff and I happen to agree with it.
> 
> Lastly, I am old and therefore was around for the whole OG HP phenomenon, but I never actually wrote anything during the heyday. As such, please excuse minor inaccuracies in regards to the finer points of the wizarding world. Not only was this my first foray into making sure my research was pointing me in the right direction but I also had to reformat everything I already knew for 1920s America. 
> 
> Thank you kindly! Enjoy!

It’s quiet. And then it’s not.

Nothingness has become the cornerstone of his existence. Between that and the violence that accompanied his jailer whenever he needed more material for the potion, he emphatically preferred the nothingness. 

An inky blackness starts oozing into the cramped cell, bringing with it an ominous rumbling and thrashing that sets Percival’s nerves on edge. He can’t tell _where_ it’s coming from, since this hellhole lacks windows and doors and any conceivable form of entry, but it’s still filtering through invisible cracks and holes until he has to get up and flatten himself against the grimy wall at his back to keep any space between himself and the amorphous writhing mass slowly taking over the cell.

He’s lost track of the hours or days or weeks he’s spent here, and he’s almost convinced this is just the beginning of his splintered mental faculties finally crumbling to dust. Especially as the inky writhing _thing_ resolves itself into the Second Salemer boy; the one Porpentina had risked her Aurorship for and begged him to help save.

Percival laughs hoarsely, lifting both hands to scrub at his face, blunt nails raking reddened lines down the skin between the patchy hairs of his beard.

“You think this is supposed to scare me, you wretch?” he roars at the inky ceiling high above that tends to mimic times of day, though not very regularly. “Whatever you did to him, I’ll hunt you down and skin you for the wolves, you hear me?!”

He doesn’t notice the boy’s expression shift from shuddering rage to quivering uncertainty. And as he turns to begin slamming his fists into the cell wall again, hurling impotent threats at the tormentor that’s haunted his waking hours since his incarceration, he misses the boy’s expression change to horrified realization.

“M-Mr. Graves?”

Percival flattens his palms against the false grimy stonework, laughing hoarsely again. His knees quiver almost imperceptibly, but he refuses to give an inch to this maggot, no matter how quickly his body may be failing. 

“Oh, I’m going to make you _suffer_ , I promise you that,” he seethes, teeth gritted with the effort of staying on his feet. “Whatever you did to him, I’ll visit it on you tenfold.”

Then, there’s a hesitant hand on his shoulder and Percival startles badly enough to lose his footing and crumple onto folded legs, his back against the wall as he stares up at the boy.

“Mr. Graves, I’m not-“ the boy – _Credence_ , he remembers, _his name is Credence_ – falters for a moment, fumbling for something he doesn’t seem to quite grasp yet. “I’m Credence, sir. I’m not _him_.”

 _Him_. Spoken like a curse itself. The boy’s face crumples in the wake of the word, and Percival’s heart twists uncomfortably. Dear God…what happened out there?

“Credence,” the name scrapes out of his raw throat, and he offers a faint smile when he gets a brief moment of eye contact for it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t– I’m sorry.”

Credence stares down at him, worry creasing his expressive brow. “Can you walk, Mr. Graves? You’re hurt. You…you need help.”

Percival gazes at the boy, numbly wondering how many times he’ll be forced to fail him. 

“It’ll be okay, Mr. Graves,” Credence wrings his hands, mistaking Percival’s expression for disbelief or ridicule. “I’ll get help. I’ll. I will.”

The boy begins losing coherence, disintegrating into the black mass of before, and Percival’s jaw falls open as he stares. “Credence, what–”

There’s no answer, since Credence doesn’t seem to have a body anymore, let alone a mouth to answer _with_ , and Percival watches as the writhing mass suddenly _explodes_ outwards, racing towards the false ceiling so far overhead and tearing at the walls on every side on its way up. It’s terrifying to witness, but he can’t tear his eyes from the spectacle. Lack of magic be damned, he manages to avoid being crushed under the debris coming down under Credence’s wrath, practically latching on to the wall of the cell and folding himself as small as he can manage. It reminds him a little of the times when his father would tell him to hide in the cellar after the wards at the house were compromised by angry No-Maj’s or bitter ex-cons that came after their family for his father’s hand in delivering them to their sentences.

Once the destruction grinds to an eventual stop, Percival glances upward and finds the cell having been torn apart and sunlight filtering down to where he’s crouched at the bottom. He thinks he can recognize bits and pieces of his own house, now that the jagged edges of his prison are almost within his reach, instead of hundreds of feet above his head, and it just figures that Grindelwald would’ve managed to hide him in his own home.

Credence’s head appears over one ledge, expression just a touch frantic. “Mr. Graves, I’m going to help you. Take my hand.”

He reaches down into the cell, then, fingers outstretched and beckoning. Percival gazes up at him and cautiously stretches his own hand out. Their fingers meet, and Credence immediately grips his hand, tugging firmly.

The fact that the boy’s strength somehow manages to eclipse his own tells him just how thoroughly Grindelwald managed to break him. Percival grimaces, trying to force weak legs to assist in the climb out of hell, fingers tightening to what must be a painful degree on the boy’s hand.

But Credence doesn’t flinch. He grabs hold of the ragged scrap of fabric trying to call itself a jacket with his free hand and quite literally hauls Percival over the ledge and onto the hardwood floor of his home. They land with a dull _thud_ and Percival wheezes, curling onto his side as his entire body throbs as though every inch of his skin has been bruised.

He knows well enough what he looks like, at least to some degree, so the mingling shock and horror on the boy’s face as he kneels beside him isn’t exactly unexpected. 

“Mr. Graves,” those surprisingly steady hands hover awkwardly over him, unsure and unprepared. “I’ve sent for help. Newt. Newt said Tina would bring them.”

 _Newt? Tina?_ He hopes, a little hysterically, that Credence is referring to Porpentina. Then again, what other Tina would the boy know?

“Thank you,” he reaches out to clasp Credence’s wrist, his breath rattling unsteadily in his chest as his vision wavers. “Credence, thank you for this…”

“…Mr. Graves?”

_”Mr. Graves!”_

➳

Credence’s frantic shout follows him into unconsciousness and even into his dreams. They’re a vast improvement on the exhaustion-induced hallucinations he endured in the cell, but he doesn’t quite trust them. He tries to skim the surface of the dreams as they occur, avoiding getting pulled too deep into a fantasy that seems too good to be true. His training days before ascending to his post at MACUSA burned that into his memory. He didn’t need Grindelwald’s constant reminders.

Percival jerks awake, Credence’s name on his lips, then frowns at the sterile white walls that greet his slowly focusing eyes. 

He cranes his neck around, still frowning, but gradually recognizes the room for what it is; MACUSA’s healers’ ward. He’d thought, for a brief moment, that he’d left this plane of existence entirely, but he’s even seen the inside of this particular room before. Being an Auror in the field is never without its fair share of scrapes and bruises. Being the Director of Magical Security is never without its fair share of threats.

A hand to his face tells him he was shaved while unconscious, so he’ll pin that on the mediwizards assigned to his ward. Beyond that, the bandages covering his forearms and wrapped around his throat tell him his injuries were somewhat more severe than he’d originally assessed. He wonders what sort of remedies they had to use that required bandages even this long after their application. 

And he has clearly been here for some time. There’s a handful of garden-variety flowers on the bedside table, bearing a single-sided card emblazoned with Porpentina’s distinctive curling script.

_Please feel better. There’s a lot of very worried people thinking of you._

Well. That’s…kind. He was never exactly a favorite among MACUSA’s staff, given his reluctance over social commitments and ingrained solitary habits, but it’s somewhat heartening to know his newly discovered absence has caused some to worry. And that leads to another train of thought: if it’s only _now_ that he was discovered, and by an outlier no less, what in the hell did Grindelwald manage to do behind the mask of his face?

There’s a dossier on the nightstand as well. When he picks it up, he finds case notes written in Seraphina’s hand scattered in amongst a detailed report of the incident. His eyes scan the papers, picking out words such as coercion and execution more than once. Christ, “he” sentenced Porpentina and the British visitor to _death_ , all over the suitcase debacle. She must have thought he’d gone out of his head, at the very least. 

“-need to see him!”

Percival’s attention is drawn to the frosted glass looking out into the hall at the sound of approaching voices and footsteps.

“Sir, only family or Madam Picquery are allowed to-“

“Tina said he was awake. You don’t understand. I need to see him!”

The door slams open, revealing Credence almost in a scuffle with one of the wardens, and a harried-looking Porpentina walking quickly down the hall towards his room.

“Credence,” he says, almost wincing at how dry and disused his voice emerges as. “It’s alright, let him in.”

At his name, Credence whips around to stare at him, then rushes to the bedside, expression heartbreakingly vulnerable and framed by shaggier hair than Percival can ever remember. 

“It’s alright–” is all he manages before Credence embraces him, burying that thin face against his shoulder.

Percival freezes, his eyes flicking to Porpentina as she enters the room in a flurry. But, as he feels Credence’s shoulders quivering, he can’t help raising a hand to cradle the crown of the boy’s skull, shushing him gently as he presses close and slowly regains control of himself.

Credence eventually straightens up and shrinks back into the empty chair next to the nightstand, wringing his hands in that habitual way he has when he’s nervous. Percival would reach over to clasp them in his own if this were any other time. 

“I’d like to speak with Ms. Goldstein, please,” he addresses the warden still standing by the open door, his voice inflecting just a touch of its old strength. “Alone.”

The warden, a blustering chap looking to be edging into his fifties with a nametag on his breast pocket that reads _Able_ , nods and beats a hasty retreat. The door _snicks_ shut following his exit, and Percival breathes a long sigh of relief.

He glances towards Credence, and finds the boy holding out a glass of water that he filled from the pitcher on the nightstand when Percival hadn’t been looking. He smiles, as warmly as he can manage, and accepts the glass with a grateful nod. Several sips later and his throat stops feeling quite as parched as the Sahara. 

“I am _so sorry_ , sir,” Porpentina steps forward, her expression anguished. “We couldn’t have…we didn’t know. We should’ve realized something was amiss, _I_ should have realized something was amiss-”

“Auror Goldstein,” Percival rides over her lamentations, and feels somewhat gratified when she falls silent. “You are not at fault for failing to uncover the machinations of the greatest dark wizard of our time. Stop blaming yourself.”

He can feel Credence’s eyes on him. It’s a small wonder the boy is so fascinated. He never took Credence into MACUSA headquarters, or anywhere else where their kind congregates, mostly for fear of his mother – if one could even call that manipulative wretch such a thing – somehow finding out. While he obviously knows the witch and wizard in this room, he’s doubtlessly encountered others on his way here.

“I just…” she gazes at him, all that earnestness and empathy reminding him of the vestiges of his old self before the real world and cynicism stole the rest away. “Can you tell us what happened?”

She deliberately uses _us_ to include Credence in the conversation, and Percival is grateful for it. As young as he is, he’s still an adult, and worthy of being addressed on their level as an equal.

“He attacked me while I was coming home from the conference in New Jersey,” Percival rolls his shoulder, avoiding eye contact with either of them. “We fought, I lost, he locked me up and took what he wanted. I supposed we see now why he wanted me.”

He doesn’t bother mentioning the humiliation of being immobilized while Grindelwald leaned over him, sneering, and plucked his wand from nerveless fingers before shearing off a neat lock of hair. Nor does he bring up the details of his imprisonment: starvation, torture, Unforgiveables. It would’ve been notable, perhaps, if Grindelwald hadn’t followed the abduction scenarios they’d trained for since graduation to the letter. Instead, he was practically textbook predictable.

Percival gave him nothing. Spat in his face whenever the dark wizard tried to coerce anything out of him – and got gagged quite early on once Grindelwald got tired of having to wipe his face. But, unfortunately, you have few defenses against an incalculably powerful sorcerer when you’ve been knocked unconscious. His mental walls are formidable to an average Legilimens, even when weakened, but Gellert Grindelwald is another order of thing entirely. 

Ever since Credence arrived in the cell, his mind has felt warped and stretched out of proportion, like an overused rubber band. And everything feels strangely muted, as though he’s experiencing their world through a pane of glass. He hasn’t attempted much by way of magic, for fear of what he might discover, but he’s almost afraid of what the results will be if his wand is restored to him with the expectation that he’ll be able to wield it as he always did.

“Credence,” he murmurs, glancing at the boy. “Would you ask Ms. Goldstein if anyone had any luck recovering my wand?”

Credence blinks at him with those wide round eyes, then glances at Porpentina. “Erm…Tina?”

The ease with which he uses her nickname tells Percival that there was likely a significant amount of time between the end of Grindelwald’s charade and his rescue. He doesn’t know where Credence’s adoptive mother is, but it seems she’s finally out of the picture in some shape or form. Perhaps the Goldsteins took him in for a time.

Porpentina offers a weary smile, then withdraws a familiar wand from her overcoat and floats it to Credence with a near silent _Leviosa_ assisted by her own wand. Credence catches it, so very carefully, and holds it out, expectant.

Percival takes it, knowing that this will be the moment of truth and it’s better to get it over with now than to wait and stew over it. He wraps his fingers around the familiar grip, breathing slowly and doing his best to channel himself through it as they all do.

“Lumos.”

Nothing. 

He aims the point at the lamp across the room. “Nox.”

Nothing. 

Percival’s fingers tighten around the grip of his wand as Porpentina breathes in sharply. 

“What?” Credence’s voice shatters the quiet with its urgency. “Tina? What is it? What’s happened?”

“…Mr. Graves’ magic is…gone,” she says, stilted and unsure, and he can feel her eyes on him. “I don’t know why, Credence.”

Now it’s Credence’s turn to stare at him. Percival can’t find it in himself to meet the boy’s gaze, even with how little this revelation has surprised him. He rests his wand hand on his lap, then lifts his free hand to push his fingers resignedly through his newly shorn hair.

“Sir,” Porpentina starts, clearly unhappy about whatever she’s about to say. “Madam Picquery wanted to relay the news to you…”

Hm. Seraphina couldn’t even deliver whatever the missive is herself. That alone speaks volumes. They must have known something, even while he was unconscious.

“She says you’re to be released from MACUSA. You’ll be provided with a pension commensurate with your title. She thanks you for your service as Director of Magical Security.”

Percival’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together. He _knew_ all of this was coming. The stunted magic, Seraphina’s clinical dismissal…he’d do it no differently in her place. His face was stolen by the most dangerous dark wizard of the age and God knows what else has happened that he hasn’t been able to glean from the snippets of dialogue from folk passing by his windows before Credence and Porpentina arrived. He’s a liability, plain and simple.

“Ms. Goldstein,” his voice cracks on the second syllable of her name. “Would you mind giving me a moment with Credence before you leave?”

Porpentina nods quickly, then makes her way out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind her.

“What did she mean by _gone_ , Mr. Graves?” Credence is already pushing the chair closer, all his attention focused on the man before him. 

Percival sighs, letting his eyes fall shut and willing his voice to steady before he opens his mouth again. “I can only assume it was something he did. Or maybe it was everything he did. He knew well enough I’m capable of wandless spellcasting, so he made sure to have dampening charms all over the cell. That, with everything else…maybe this is how he wanted to break me.”

Credence stares at him, then reaches over to clasp the wrist of his wand arm.

“So you’re…a little like me,” he offers, careful. “Only your magic can’t get out like mine does. So you’re safer.”

Percival frowns briefly, then turns to gaze at the boy. “Like yours does? What do you mean, Credence?”

Credence’s eyes widen, his lips forming an almost perfect ‘o’ before the boy squeezes his wrist somewhat unconsciously. He likely forgot he was still holding it, and then tried to wring his hands.

“Oh, how did Newt call it…erm,” he flounders about for a moment, before latching onto whatever it is. “I’m an Obscurial. That’s what he said. My magic comes out dangerously. That’s why I’m trying to learn. Tina’s helped me. And her sister. They’re…they’re wonderful.”

An _Obscurial_. He knows exactly what those are. He also knows that one hasn’t been seen in America for over two centuries, let alone in the form of a young adult. Obscurials, God rest their souls, die before they reach ten years of age. But he also knows exactly what he saw in that cell. How on earth…

“An Obscurial,” he murmurs, gazing at the boy. “You’re absolutely certain that’s what this _Newt_ said?”

Credence smiles faintly, dropping his gaze to where his hand still rests between them. “Yes, I am. Tina agrees too. But they say it’s not all bad. That I can control it. Well, that I can learn to. And I’m trying.”

“You are…absolutely remarkable,” Percival murmurs, prompting Credence to smile a little more and flush, gaze now trained on his lap where both of his hands have retreated. He offers as genuine a smile as he can muster, then slowly leans back against the pillows piled up on the headboard of his bed, finally feeling the exhaustion brought on by attempting so much so soon after regaining consciousness. 

Apparently sensing the shift, Credence gets to his feet, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “I’ll be back, Mr. Graves. Look after yourself. Would you?”

Percival smiles wanly and nods, though he does point a vague finger in Credence’s direction.

“Since you’re apparently so friendly with our Tina, I think it’s only fair that you call me Percival,” he says, gentle. “Would you do that for me?”

“Yes. I’ll do that. Percival,” Credence smiles at him in return, and Percival decides this, right here, has been the brightest part about coming back to the world of the living.

➳

MACUSA’s healers are talented and cordial, as always, but he can only stand being a medical curiosity for so long. Once they determine that his visible wounds have healed and he’s no longer in danger, Percival discharges himself using the sheer power of reminding them of his old title. No doubt they’re all perfectly aware that he’s been _released from his post_ now, but at least they do him the small courtesy of acknowledging his dedication to their protection over the years. A part of him feels guilty for not alerting Credence and the Goldsteins to his departure, but they don’t deserve to be caught up in his mess. The further away they stay, the better.

He carries a small bag filled with the clothes he arrived in hospital with, his wand, and some leftover ointments for his injuries as he makes his way home. A brief stop at the market a block over from his apartment sees him purchasing the whiskey he usually reserves for special occasions and a handful of other odd groceries. No telling what state his pantry will be in when he arrives.

Unlocking his front door – by hand – and making his way through the entryway is a somewhat surreal affair. He always did carry a key, should the wards or himself be compromised in some way, but knowing that the physical key is the _only way_ to enter his own home now is unsettling. He knows his magic isn’t _gone_. That’s not how magic works for witches and wizards. It’s just…locked away somewhere. Like he was after Grindelwald’s attack. He can still sense the inherent qualities of their world, side by side with the No-Maj’s, but it’s muted, dulled.

Without thinking, he gestures at the grate in the fireplace as he walks into the living room, then winces when nothing happens. 

Collecting some crumpled up newspaper and finding a match to actually start a fire to warm the room takes longer than he cares to think about. And this is how it will be, unless wherever his magic has been collected and contained decides to unlock itself. 

He’s never actually heard of something like this, so he has no references or history to call on as a way of understanding his unfortunate dilemma. Credence’s situation is somewhat similar, though Obscurials intentionally strangle their magic due to whatever abuse or danger they suffer. It’s a survival tactic. A last resort. There was nothing conscious or intentional about what’s happened to him. And that’s what makes him rail against it that much harder. 

Percival spends that evening getting well and truly drunk.

It’s not a habit he ever indulged in during his tenure with MACUSA, unless events pushed just that far, but he isn’t employed by MACUSA any longer. He has no post to cover, come morning. No title to uphold, no schedule to keep. And Seraphina still hasn’t deigned to contact him, aside from a verbal missive meant to be conferred through Tina.

He chases the bottom of the bottle until he passes out at the table and wakes at some ungodly hour with a crick in his neck and a throbbing ache in the small of his back. He just manages to summon the coordination to make his way to his bedroom and collapse atop the primly made sheets that smell faintly of dust, unconsciousness swallowing him whole.

Waking up in the morning is the second most unpleasant thing he’s experienced since Grindelwald. 

His mouth feels like something small and hairy crawled inside overnight and expired. His throat is parched. And his head aches as though someone’s beating a gong inside it. Well, at least the whiskey did its part to knock him out until what appears to be midafternoon, if his squinting at the light filtering in through the blinds is telling him anything.

Percival groans and rolls onto his back, wetting his lips and trying to swallow without whimpering pathetically. He eventually gropes his way to the kitchen and unearths a pitcher from beneath the sink to fill with water off the tap. 

If he could whisper a brief _Aguamenti_ , it would taste far better. But he can’t, so this will have to do. He drains the pitcher after a time, and finally feels a bit more human. Human enough to clean up the disaster in the dining room from last night and put the rest of the house in order. 

Everything is relatively clean, but the fine layer of dust over a majority of surfaces is unnerving in the worst way. He was held captive here, but in an almost separate dimension of space. The world passed him by while he remained stationary and helpless. 

Percival clenches his fists as he stares at the blank space on the floorboards near the closet where he knows the decimated steamer trunk used to be. Tina and other Aurors likely cleared all the evidence out before he returned. Standard procedure for such an event, even if they’ve never had to endure something of this magnitude before. 

Without even realizing he’s made the decision to move, Percival finds himself across the room with a fist planted through the drywall, his chest heaving.

Once his equilibrium returns, he slowly extricates his fist from the new hole in the plaster, staring at his abraded knuckles as his hand quivers almost imperceptibly. The pain will come, he knows, but for now, he just shudders and turns away, making for the brighter kitchen and perhaps some food.

Food turns into a few slices of ham on toasted bread, and an attempt at moving away from the memories threatening to drag his mind somewhere he doesn’t want to be turns into an evening spent at the dining room table mulling over the pistol he confiscated from a confrontational No-Maj during an investigation years ago. 

Per the design specifications inscribed on the gun itself, the model is a Colt M1911. While he was always wary of the No-Maj’s and their weapons, he made sure to research them and understand their capabilities. As it turns out, No-Maj’s are capable of the same amount of viciousness and brutality that their magical counterparts are. It’s never wise to underestimate them.

He has several cartridges of ammunition that he obtained after confiscating the weapon, and he takes one out now, examining the bullets before sliding the cartridge into the gun and locking the hammer. It is beautiful, in a way…something of an equivalent to their wands, if a little more direct and obvious. And now, it’s his most feasible method of protection.

Percival tucks it away in the holster he obtained for it as well and goes about dousing the lights in the house before turning in for bed. He’s decided it’s going to become a habit: turn off every light and snuff every candle before going to bed to give the impression that no one’s home. That way, if someone did decide to make their move, they wouldn’t be able to anticipate his presence. 

He settles into the pattern for a day or two, and nearly has a heart attack when someone comes knocking on his front door just after dusk on the fourth day.

It’s early enough to not be entirely suspect, but it’s late enough to be out of the ordinary. He doubts Tina or her sister would be visiting. It’s not Seraphina either. So he takes the pistol out of the holster he’s made a habit of wearing over his shirt and vest even around the house and approaches the door. 

The urgent rapping hasn’t ceased, so he places a hand on the knob and yanks it open, moving simultaneously to aim the pistol at whoever happens to be on the other side.

Credence startles backwards, eyes wide, and immediately flings his hands in the air.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Graves,” he stammers, a marked change from the eloquent boy in the hospital ward. “P-Please. I’m sorry.”

Percival immediately withdraws his arm, holstering the gun and stepping aside to grant entry to the house. “It’s alright, Credence. I apologize for that. Come in.”

Credence stares at him for a moment longer, obviously still terrified, but Percival endeavors to be as careful and welcoming as he can. The boy stares at the gun holstered against his ribs as he passes, and Percival knows an explanation is likely required.

“I thought…” Credence glances back at him as he moves to shut the door. “I thought wizards didn’t use things like that? Oh...”

He trails off and Percival can tell he realizes too late where that particular thread was inevitably headed. Percival inclines his head silently, acknowledging the unspoken remembrance of his handicap, as he’s taken to calling it. 

“Can I get you something? Tea?” Percival moves toward the kitchen, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as Credence tails after him.

“Oh. If it’s not too much trouble…”

Percival nods, going through the tedious process of filling the kettle, placing it on the stove, and fiddling with the knobs until the water is boiling away happily. That done, he turns, resting a hip against the counter, and gazes at Credence.

The boy looks far healthier than he ever did when Percival knew him prior to Grindelwald’s arrival. Back when he was still in Mary Lou Barebone’s clutches, he was pale, almost emaciated, and looked on the verge of collapsing right there in the street whenever Percival saw him. Now there’s color in his cheeks, which have also filled out somewhat, and his posture is that of a young man confident in himself, rather than the abused child he used to be. It’s remarkable, really. He’ll have to learn what exactly the Goldstein sisters got up to prior to his rescue. Whatever it was, they were quite successful in rehabilitating Credence and allowing him to blossom into this young man before him.

He reaches out, gently clasping Credence’s shoulder, and offers a warm smile when Credence gives him a curious look.

“You look…very well,” Percival tells him. “I’m afraid I don’t know much of what happened, outside of what you and Tina spoke of. You seem to have been left out of a great deal of the debrief. Would you mind filling in some of the gaps?”

Credence’s face does something complicated where it brightens but somehow crumples at the same time. All in all, it seems like a very reasonable reaction to what Percival assumes are the events that took place during his imprisonment. He hopes he isn’t asking too much of the boy, even as he moves across to the whistling kettle to pour their tea.

“He was looking for a child. Now I know he meant the Obscurial, but I didn’t at the time. And he didn’t know it was me, either. Newt said Obscurials die as children, so it’s perfectly logical he overlooked me.”

Percival’s brow furrows as he wraps his fingers around his cup, and he frowns at Credence. “Newt. Who is this _Newt_ you talk about?”

“Oh! Er, that’s Mr. Scamander. He’s been in touch with Tina. From England.”

“Scamander? _Newton_ Scamander? The magizoologist?”

Credence blinks at him with large eyes. “…you know him, Mr. Graves?”

“Never met him. But God knows I know his family. Caused more problems than they solved trying to rescue illegally traded hippogriffs a couple years ago. They’re decent people, but they love their animals a little too much when it comes down to it.”

“Well, he was a kind man when I met him,” Credence frowns into his cup, not cowed in the slightest. “He tried to save me. I owe him for that.”

Percival glances up, sharp eyes roving over Credence’s face. _Tried to save him?_

“He kept pressuring me, when he didn’t get what he wanted,” Credence’s use of _he_ changes noticeably and Percival narrowly avoids a flinch. “It seemed strange. I thought; ‘you never treated me like that’. But the next time he was always gentle and…and I wanted to believe it. So it got worse.”

Percival closes his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling. He can only imagine the sort of poisoned coercing Grindelwald employed to glean the information he needed from Credence. But this is his fault. He failed to stop the wizard and Credence paid the price. So he has to listen to what that price was.

“My m-mother saw me holding a stick I found under Chastity’s bed. Sort of like a wand. Chastity tried to tell her she’d been playing with it, but mother didn’t believe her. And I…lost control. They died,” Credence swallows thickly, fingers trembling around his cup. “I called for y-him. Begged. H-He hit me. Told me I was a Squib. He thought Modesty was the Obscurial so I was…expendable. I lost control again. Worse. I couldn’t even think. Didn’t know where I was. Newt found me in the New York City Hall Subway. Tina was there too. Then h-he was. There was fighting, I think. I don’t remember the rest all that well. Tina said the Aurors tried to destroy me, but I don’t blame them. I was dangerous. I almost destroyed Times Square.”

The last is said with a small, disbelieving laugh. Percival physically restrains himself from moving across the space between them to embrace the boy. The last thing he needs right now is an unwarranted invasion of that space he projects so clearly around himself.

Percival recalls reading about the destruction in the papers that arrived by owl over the last few days. Along with a small blurb that read _GRINDELWALD COMPROMISES HEAD OF MAGICAL SECURITY; MACUSA ASSURES PUBLIC THAT NECESSARY STEPS HAVE BEEN TAKEN_. At least they’d done him the small favor of avoiding mentioning him by name. And the implication of having been _compromised_ is perhaps a gentler term that he deserves.

“Tina found me. Near the docks, I think it was. She told me she saw some wisps of smoke and when she turned the corner, there I was. I wasn’t even corporeal. Just somewhere in between. She brought me to her home. Queenie was there too. They looked after me. They’ve been so kind-”

Credence sniffs wetly, lifting his arm to scrub his sleeve across his eyes, and Percival’s restraint snaps like a frayed rope. He places his nearly empty cup on the counter, then strides across the kitchen, telegraphing every movement clearly as he goes.

Credence blinks at him, eyes glistening. His cup seems to fall from suddenly nerveless fingers and Percival couldn’t give a damn about it as the shattering of china reaches his ears. “Oh God, I’m sorry-” Credence gasps. 

“It’s alright,” Percival murmurs, pulling Credence against his chest with one arm around the boy’s back and the other hand cradling the crown of his skull. “It’s alright, Credence. You deserve everything they’ve done for you. You deserve every decent thing that’s come your way in this life. I swear it.”

Credence’s hands have fisted in his vest, wet gasps and tears dampening the fabric over his shoulder. He holds the boy a little closer and exhales a slow breath.

“I’m sorry. Sorrier than you know. I should’ve protected you and I failed. I am _so sorry _, Credence,” Percival endeavors to keep his voice as level as he can, and succeeds for the most part. “You didn’t deserve any of it. You are the most incredible individual I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. Nothing about you is anything short of stunning.”__

__He shifts slightly, moving to cup the boy’s face in his hands, thumbs smoothing over the tears tracking over those prominent cheekbones. “If you never want to see me again, your word is my command. But you have that promise I made you that I will _always_ be there for you. Even if it means protecting you from the shadows. I promise you that.”_ _

__Credence gazes at him, eyes still watery but a shaky smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “C-Can I stay here?” he whispers._ _

__Percival blinks, perplexed, then thumbs over Credence’s cheeks again. “You want…here? Why?”_ _

__“Queenie and Tina are talking about sending me to school,” Credence hiccups wetly. “I don’t want to go to school. I don’t have friends. I don’t…there’s too much I don’t know. It’s too much.”_ _

__He thinks of Ilvermorny, or perhaps Durmstrang, or Hogwarts…all worthy schools in their own regard. It’s very rare that a student in their mid-twenties already is accepted into the courses, no matter the school or the headmaster. Credence would likely be an outsider regardless of how he tried to fit in, and no matter how kind the other students were. He’d be mocked for not knowing the simplest charms that eleven-year-olds have already mastered. It would be a disaster, especially so soon after Credence’s apparent proper introduction into the wizarding world._ _

__“Okay,” he nods carefully, smiling as Credence grips his wrists and presses unconsciously closer. “Yes, you can stay.”_ _

__“And you’ll teach me?” Credence’s eyes are so bright, like the stars at night in the quietest parts of the city. “So I can learn magic too?”_ _

__Somehow, Percival knew this was coming. From the moment Credence made that decisive eye contact during his fumbling attempts at a speech, he knew. And yet he’s still not prepared. He isn’t a teacher. He’s vetted Aurors for MACUSA’s security forces and instructed people on how to do their jobs better, but he is no teacher. Not only that, but now he lacks the ability to so much as demonstrate the simplest summoning spell. He can’t inflict that on Credence. He won’t._ _

__“Credence, I-”_ _

__“Mr. G- _Percival_ ,” Credence forcibly corrects himself and Percival falls silent in the face of the sheer determination on the boy’s face. “I don’t care if you can’t do magic now. I don’t care if you never do again. Tina told me so much about you…all the things you’ve done for MA…MACUSA. And for the No-Maj’s.”_ _

__“That’s…that was my job. It’s not-” his hands fall to Credence’s shoulders even as the boy lifts a hand to quiet him._ _

__“I don’t care. I trusted you before and you didn’t betray me. That was him. All of it was _him_. I know that. I still trust you. And I want you to teach me. Please.”_ _

__Percival gazes at him, stunned, and realizes in a quiet moment of clarity that there was never any other path for them. From the moment Credence arrived on his stoop earlier in the evening, this is where everything was leading._ _

__“Okay,” he nods slowly, then firmly. “I’ll teach you.”_ _

__The elation on Credence’s face is almost painful to look at, and he can’t help but squeeze the boy’s shoulders, holding him in place so he can meet his gaze head on. “You’ll have to keep your expectations low. It’s been years since I was in school. Decades, even. And with everything…just don’t expect it all to come at once. Be patient. With me and yourself.”_ _

__Credence grins, wider than Percival’s ever seen, and nods eagerly. “Don’t worry. I will. I promise.”_ _

__Percival gently pulls the boy into another embrace, holding on for just a moment and thanking a God he stopped believing in down there in the dark for giving him this chance. For giving them both this chance._ _

__

____

➳

When he wakes the next morning, he wonders briefly why he’s sitting in his armchair in the living room. 

A brief moment of concerted effort to resolve the crick in his neck and focus on the world around him helps him recall the fact that he’s now sharing this space with someone else. He can hear Credence snoring softly down the hall in his room and he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. He practically had to carry the boy to bed last night. They’d spent quite a while talking near the fire that Percival had stoked to life.

He’s learned that the boy is gradually figuring out how to control the tangled force living in him rather than the other way around. Scamander and the Goldstein sisters are owed their due credit for helping him this far. But, as he mentioned before, they’d been discussing school. And Credence doesn’t want to go to school. He understands the possible benefits, but he doesn’t feel ready. And Percival is going to see to it that the boy charts his own path through life from this point forward, God help them both.

It’s a short wait for the arrival of the post owl (he knows he should be grateful that the bird still visits, since he’s been effectively shut out from MACUSA after being so thoroughly compromised) and by the time the owl raps on the sill with its talons, not only has he put himself together down to his vest and shirtsleeves but he also has a brief letter scribbled out on a spare bit of parchment. 

“Goldstein,” he taps the bird’s beak, then offers it a treat before handing over the hastily addressed note. “You know where they live. Just don’t tell Picquery, yeah?”

The owl flaps once, giving him a distinctly unimpressed look, then takes off through the window. He straightens up and watches the broad wings disappear over the nearby rooftops, then turns around at a quiet gasp from the doorway behind him.

“Was that an… _owl_?”

Credence is still mostly dressed in his clothes from last night, minus his coat and with the addition of a blanket wrapped around those thin shoulders. He’s rubbing at his eyes and clearly still waking up, but he’s awake enough to have registered the large bird of prey loitering in the open window before Percival sent it on its way.

“It was indeed,” Percival smiles, gesturing for Credence to make himself comfortable wherever he wants. “That’s how we go about getting our mail. Urgent news is done through the Floo network.”

He can tell by the expression he gets that Credence has likely never heard the word, let alone been introduced to the concept. “We enchant fireplaces to serve as communication devices. Sort of like a telephone, but we put our heads in the grate to speak to whoever is on the other end. It sounds bizarre, I know, but it’s quite useful. I’ll show you, someday.”

Credence just nods, wide-eyed, and settles himself at the dining room table.

Floo itself is perfectly non-eventful for him, but having lived so much of his life amongst the No-Maj’s as part of his line of work, he’s been afforded the unique opportunity to bridge their two worlds more often than not. And, thanks to that, he can certainly see how many aspects of the wizarding world would be completely alien to someone who’d never experienced it.

“Breakfast?” he raises his eyebrows at the boy and leans against the countertop. “I’m afraid we’re a little low on supplies, but we should have some basics for this morning. Any preference?”

Credence blinks at him, mouth opening slightly before shutting almost instantly. A frown appears on that expressive brow, and Percival knows that waiting him out is far more productive than pressing the issue. 

“I never…toast? Queenie is a very good cook. She made me so many things I’d never been able to have. I suppose…eggs? If you have them…”

Percival’s heart breaks all over again. 

He knows well enough what Credence’s situation with the Second Salemers was like. He’d hoped, perhaps naïvely, that the boy would’ve been given at least some freedom to do as he wished, but this is a clear answer to that idle question. It’s quite likely that Credence has never had anything outside of the meager soups that Barebone woman doled out to the beggar children, at least prior to his rescue by the Goldstein sisters.

Percival decides, then and there, that he’s going to introduce Credence to as many foods and treats as he can. No sense cramming it all in at once. This will be an experience they can draw out as long as Credence finds it tolerable.

➳

The first day, he makes Credence a breakfast comprised of eggs, a few slices of bacon, and some buttered toast. It’s nothing spectacular, and judging by Credence’s reception, nothing the Goldstein sisters hadn’t already exposed him to. But the boy still wolfs it down like his next meal won’t be for years to come and he has to finish it before someone else gets it in their head to steal it from him. 

Percival watches from over the rim of mug of coffee, smiling occasionally whenever Credence lifts his head to breathe in between devouring his food. 

The second day, he takes Credence to the market and tells him to point out things he’d like. It’s a bit of a charged moment, and he can’t quite tell if Credence is about to burst into tears or that oily smoke he remembers from the cell, but he rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder and tells him that it’s alright if he picks just one thing. Just one. 

Credence ends up selecting some gumdrops and jellybeans from the stand near the register, and Percival takes a few more bags while the boy takes his treat up to the grocer. He hides the bags in amongst the rest of their purchases for the day, and decides to leave a few candies for Credence whenever he has an errand to run or other business that might take him away from the apartment. 

On the third day, they receive visitors. 

Queenie and her sister are murmuring quietly to themselves on the stoop as Percival opens the door, and they both do their level best to pretend they aren’t trying to peer around his body as they smile and bid him a polite hello.

“Looking for our boy, I presume?” Percival quirks an eyebrow, smirking as they both laugh and nod, then glances over his shoulder. “Credence! You have visitors.”

He comes ambling out of the kitchen, eyes large and curious, then brightens instantly when he sees Queenie and Tina being ushered into the apartment. 

“Growing up so handsome already!” Queenie exclaims, rushing forward to pat the boy’s cheeks and go up on her toes to place a kiss on his forehead. 

Credence blushes in the face of her affectionate praise, and Percival watches with no small amount of wonder as he interacts with the sisters as if they’re almost old friends. Queenie is very motherly towards him, while Tina seems to be slightly more reserved and almost sisterly instead. It’s a fascinating dynamic to be party to, especially since he’d only been able to see Credence interacting with Tina, and only briefly at that.

Once they satisfy themselves that the boy is unharmed and healthy as can be, their attention turns to him. Which is a bit unsettling, but he straightens where he stands against the counter and crosses his arms, instinctively coming to attention under their scrutiny.

“You saw the report, right?” Tina gazes at him, concern furrowing her brow.

Percival nods. “Of course. I read it before the pair of you arrived in my ward. I asked Credence to clarify some things for me since he was a bit…absent, through the proceedings.”

“Because Picquery doesn’t know he’s still alive,” Tina glances briefly at the boy, then trains her gaze back on him. “She gave the order to destroy him and they almost did. I’m not about to tell her we’ve been harboring the Obscurial responsible for the Manhattan disaster.”

Percival frowns, brows lowering, and he glances at Credence. The boy doesn’t seem particularly fazed by the discussion, though he does look a little pale. He hasn’t been witness to Credence’s full power after the cell, but he has noticed some inky wisps trailing after the boy when he gets nervous or frustrated. 

“I’m going to assume there’s a reason we’re having this discussion?”

Queenie steps in, figuratively, laying a hand on her sister’s knee before picking up the conversation. “There’s been some…interest, across the departments. In Obscurials, to be precise. We wrote it off as holdover from everything that happened, but we’re starting to suspect that isn’t the case.”

“And it’s not just that,” Tina interjects, grasping for her sister’s hand before looking at him, imploring. “Queenie’s heard talk. And people thinking too loud. Grindelwald convinced some of them. We brought it to Picquery’s attention but she’s not done much.”

The sisters glance at each other, leaving Percival to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub it firmly as he feels the beginnings of a tension headache mounting in his skull. He doesn’t pay much attention to Tina or Queenie as they murmur to each other, but he does glance at Credence, who he finds paler than before, almost shaken. He reaches out and squeezes the boy’s shoulder, offering a small smile when he finally gets a moment of eye contact.

“Perc, we need you to be on your guard,” Tina finally turns back to him, eyes wide and concerned. “For Credence’s sake and yours. It’s not safe. And with you…”

She trails off, leaving the rest of it unsaid, and Percival grits his teeth. It’s one thing having his handicap acknowledged, but it’s quite another to have it pointed out as a blatant weakness. He reaches up, slips the pistol out of its holster, spins it slowly around his finger, then catches it by the grip. Both sisters look just short of scandalized.

“I’m not helpless. Neither is he,” he nods towards Credence. “Since he wants to learn, we’ll focus on defensive magics to start and move on from there. You’ll both keep your ears to the ground at headquarters?”

“Obviously,” Queenie eyes him critically, an uncharacteristic frown creasing her pleasant features. “And if Credence needs somewhere else to stay, he’s always welcome with us. Right, Tina?”

“Of course, Credence. Our door is always open.” Tina smiles warmly at the boy, and gets a faint one in reply. 

Conversation shifts to more innocuous topics after that, but as Tina busies herself with checking on Credence to make sure he hasn’t backslid through any of his work with controlling his Obscurus, Percival takes Queenie aside into the hallway.

“Has Picquery said anything? About me? To anyone?”

Queenie gives him a somewhat sympathetic look, then lays a hand on his arm. “She hasn’t even filled your post,” she offers gently. “She’s…conflicted, I think. That’s what I’ve seen, for the most part. If she reaches out, Congress and the public will see it as opening MACUSA to sabotage again. She misses you, though. I know that much for certain.” 

He sighs, reaching up to drag a hand over his face. It’s not just that Grindelwald nearly managed to singlehandedly bring MACUSA to its knees, but that he also managed to wreck his entire life and _no one noticed_.

A sharp inhale brings his head up, and he frowns before he registers Queenie’s hand moving slowly towards his face. “What-?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, blinking wide eyes at him as her knuckles brush his cheek. “I didn’t- I don’t mean to. I know you know that. But your mind is…loud. You’re in pain. I’m sorry. I wish I had done more.”

Percival breathes out, the corners of his eyes stinging slightly. He must have practically shouted that at Queenie, for her to pick it up so easily, and now he feels a bit guilty over it. It’s not their fault they couldn’t pull the curtain back from an illusion the most powerful dark wizard of the age was casting. Not that the rationalization assuages his own feelings of helplessness at all.

He reaches over, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then offers a wan smile. “I know. You and Tina did your best. I’m proud of you both. For everything with the disaster and with Credence. He’s an entirely different person than I remember. And that’s thanks to your efforts.”

Queenie smiles warmly at him, then reaches up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his brow. It would be condescending from anyone else, but Percival just huffs and waves her away, knowing there’s little he can ever hope to hide from this particular Legilimens.

He follows Queenie to the door, where Tina is saying goodbye to Credence and straightening his collar with a familial sort of protectiveness. He watches Queenie say goodbye as well, going up on her tiptoes to give Credence a kiss like the one she gave him. It’s comforting, in a way, seeing that affection shared between them.

When the door closes, he barely has time to turn around before Credence practically throws himself into his arms.

Percival brings his arms up on instinct along, carefully embracing the boy, concern overtaking the surprise when he can hear and feel Credence sobbing against his shoulder. “Hey now,” he rubs Credence’s nape carefully. “What’s this? What is it?”

“Are they going to kill me again?” comes the shaky reply, marred by Credence’s sniffing and intermittent sobs. 

Percival grimaces, wishing he didn’t know exactly who Credence was referring to. He pets the crown of the boy’s head for a moment, then pulls back enough to meet his gaze.

“No. Not while Tina and Queenie are looking out for you,” he holds those wide eyes firmly with his own. “Not while I’m here. You understand?”

Credence nods shakily, reaching up to wipe his nose on a sleeve. 

Once he ascertains that Credence isn’t going to fall apart on him, Percival marches to his room, swipes his wand out of the bedside drawer he’d stashed it in his first night back, and marches back out into the living room. That done, he offers it grip-first to Credence.

Credence stares at it as though it’s the loaded gun Percival had brandished in front of the Goldstein sisters earlier, and Percival mentally concedes that the comparison is somewhat valid. He deliberately softens his expression and gazes at Credence meaningfully. 

“I want you to use my wand to train on, Credence. You’ll have your own once you’re ready but for now, this will do. It’s what we all use to channel our magic. I suppose it’s more of a conduit than an actual tool, if you think about it. Without your magic behind it, it’s simply a wand. Imbued with a certain amount of sensitivity to magic, yes, but still a wand. Just like my gun. Without someone pulling the trigger, it’s harmless. Does that make sense?”

“…yes,” Credence nods, slowly reaching forward to wrap his fingers around the grip.

Percival nods encouragingly and releases his hold as soon as he’s confident that Credence doesn’t intend to drop it. He watches the boy test the weight of it in his hand, twisting his wrist this way and that as he practices a few gestures he likely observed Tina and Queenie making around their house.

“Alright. Now let’s start small. Pick a light in the room. Any light, doesn’t matter. Point your wand at it and say _Nox_. You’re telling it to go out. Usually this is just when you need to light your way with your own wand, but we can make it serve a dual purpose here.”

Credence casts around the room for a moment, then lands on the fixture nearest the kitchen. His brow furrows in concentration, and he flicks the wand at it with as casual a movement as he can manage. “Nox.”

The bulb flickers out instantly.

Percival smiles broadly as Credence turns to him with a beatific grin. “Well done. Well done, Credence. Now, let’s do it in reverse. You’re creating light with your wand. Do the same thing, but say _Lumos_.”

“Lumos!” Credence flicks his wrist, but nothing happens.

He frowns; brow furrowed again, then repeats the gesture. “Lumos.”

Nothing.

Percival places a careful hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re expecting too much of yourself. It takes concentration and willpower, even for something this small. If you put too much into the spell, you could break something. You need to focus on fine-tuning your magic. That’s what a wands helps you accomplish.”

Credence absorbs all that for a moment, then straightens up. He flexes his fingers around the grip of the wand, and gestures again. “Lumos!”

There’s a tiny spark, and when Credence seems to _push_ just a bit, it flares into a fully lit orb at the tip of the wand. Percival exhales slowly, giving Credence a firm pat on the shoulder as the boy laughs delightedly.

“That’s it. See? As you learn more spells, easy ones like this become second nature. You won’t even have to think about them. But everyone starts here. Concentration and willpower, Credence, those are the keys.”

Credence turns around and hugs him again – an event which will apparently never cease to surprise him – given his startled jerk when it happens. He pats the boy between his shoulder blades, smiling faintly as he can make out the broad grin on Credence’s own lips, half buried against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Credence whispers, squeezing those gangly arms around him. “ _Thank you_.”

➳

And that’s how it begins. 

Percival tries to progressively integrate a new spell into their daily lessons, unless Credence has difficulty with one. Then they’ll spend as long as necessary on it so Credence can have the time to learn it properly. 

They begin branching out into _Muffliato_ and _Alohomora_ and _Expelliarmus_ and _Diffindo _as Credence improves. Percival resigns himself to sacrificing various household appliances and decorations in the name of teaching Credence, though they’ll be moving on to repairing spells soon enough, so it won’t be a permanent state of destruction. Hopefully.__

__As the days go by, Credence inevitably makes a fuss about Percival being relegated to the living room couch for a bed, so they come to a compromise of switching off every other night. Percival had argued in favor of letting Credence have exclusive use of the bedroom, but Credence wouldn’t have it. So, a compromise it is._ _

__Percival takes Credence out to the market again, then further out into the city. He teaches the boy more subtle magics that help them move about amongst the No-Maj’s. He also instructs Credence on the importance of _Obliviate_. _ _

__“No-Maj’s will inevitably see you practicing magic. It’s part of our lives and we can’t just shut the instinct off when we go out into society,” he explains, squeezing Credence’s arm when he sees the boy flinch slightly. “Thus, we have a spell that allows us to harmlessly erase that memory from their minds.”_ _

__“It doesn’t hurt them? At all?” Credence gazes around at the scores of people passing them on the sidewalk and in the street._ _

__“No, not at all,” Percival confirms with a wan smile. “Your friend, Scamander, used it on a mass scale, actually. Just after your encounter with MACUSA’s Aurors. Apparently his Thunderbird took his experimental potion up into the sky just before the storm arrived so they could charm the rain to Obliviate all the No-Maj’s in New York.”_ _

__He lets Credence practice _Tarantallegra_ and _Rictusempra _and _Obscuro_ and _Levicorpus_ on him, and can’t help feeling ridiculously pleased over the seemingly smallest things that have the boy practically floating for the rest of the day. He teaches Credence how to start a fire in the grate with _Incendio_. When Credence approaches him about more physical magics, he incorporates _Accio_ and _Wingardium Leviosa_.___ _

____The boy has _so much_ magic in him that it’s not at all a matter of collecting enough power to achieve the spells. It’s all about fine-tuning his power and concentrating on the end goal of the particular spell he wants to execute. There are mishaps, of course. Misfired spells and accidental destruction of furniture and other elements of the apartment, but it’s all part of the process._ _ _ _

____Credence always flinches when something goes wrong. He hunches out of habitual instinct, retreating into himself and apologizing instantly because history has taught him that retribution for a misstep will be swift and merciless._ _ _ _

____“It’s alright,” Percival always murmurs, taking the boy’s face in his hands and smiling gently. “You’re doing so well, Credence. You’re allowed to fail, it’s all part of learning.”_ _ _ _

____And in reassuring Credence even when he fails at a task set before him, Percival is reminded to take some of that for himself, even if he doesn’t think he deserves it._ _ _ _

____He failed. Horribly._ _ _ _

____And so many people paid the price for his failure, with Credence at the top of that list. But he’s doing his best to atone for that. He’s trying to claw his way back into the life that was stolen from him. Maybe, just maybe, Credence came to him partly as a way to help him on this particular journey. The thought is a nice one, especially when he finds himself the recipient of those gentle smiles Credence shares in the privacy of the kitchen or the living room as they turn in after a long day of training._ _ _ _

____ _ _

______ _ _

➳

One morning, Percival wakes in his bed to the smell of crisp bacon and eggs wafting into his room.

He yawns widely, pulling on his dressing gown from the hanger on the back of the door and padding his way down the hall to the kitchen. When he pokes his head through the doorway, he’s greeted with the sight of Credence, barefoot and still clad in his pajamas, fiddling about with pans and spatulas as he fixes their breakfast and portions it out onto two generously-sized plates.

“Hello,” Credence says, back still turned while he focuses on the bacon in the frying pan.

Percival blinks.

He hadn’t made any noise on his approach, at least nothing that would’ve been heard above the noise of the food. And Credence hadn’t glanced his way once since he stepped into the doorway…

Credence turns fully to face him, a shy smile playing on his lips as he grips the frying pan in one hand and the spatula in the other. “I can…sense you. I tried reading about it in your books you said I should look through, but I couldn’t find much besides Seers. Your magic…that’s what I can sense. It’s there. I can feel it.”

Percival blinks again, completely broadsided.

“Breakfast?” Credence gestures with the frying pan towards the plates already piled with eggs and toast.

“And where else do you think I’m going?” Percival finally finds his footing again, offering a playful smirk as he steps fully into the kitchen and sweeps by Credence to pluck both plates from the countertop.

He very nearly dips close enough to brush his lips over Credence’s cheek and only narrowly checks the urge before disguising it with shifting his grip on the plates to also grab the silverware. Christ. He’s become more fully aware of his feelings towards Credence lately, yes, but that would’ve been a disaster. 

The boy certainly hasn’t been shy about sharing space and affection since he came back into Percival’s life, but that doesn’t mean anything more than a face value interpretation. And he certainly isn’t going to impose the disaster of his own life on Credence like that. No. If anything, he’s going to insist that Credence be taken on as an apprentice by Scamander when the fickle idiot decides to drop by the states again. MACUSA wouldn’t be an option, not after what happened to the boy in the subway, even with Tina and Queenie behind him. 

He sits down at the table and politely waits for Credence to bring the rest of their breakfast over.

Credence’s hair has grown to cover his ears now. It’s softer and almost curly in places, and Percival catches the boy reaching up to absently tug at the ends sometimes as if he can’t quite believe it’s really that long and he hasn’t been punished for it. The hesitant smiles he gets when Credence catches him looking are almost heartbreaking.

Now, he can see Credence concentrating just enough to levitate their mugs of coffee while he carries their bacon to the table. Though Credence certainly has no issue borrowing his wand for the learning process, the boy has taken to channeling his magic without the aid of a wand not his own just fine. The tongue caught between Credence’s teeth is endearing to the extreme, and Percival only realizes he’s staring when Credence taps his nose with the bacon tongs…

…that are floating in the air, completely independent of the individual manipulating them to do so.

“It’s time,” Percival murmurs, thumbing his fork and knife as he gazes across the table at the boy that’s blossomed into a fully-fledged young wizard in their time together.

Credence blinks at him, caught with a mouthful of egg and toast, but he makes a valiant effort of getting _“Time for what?”_ out regardless.

“Time to find your wand,” Percival offers a small quirk of his lips.

Credence’s beatific smile is enough to light up the entire room, and the rest of the morning passes in something close to a dazed blur.

➳

The trip to Johannes Jonker’s secluded emporium on the coast of New Jersey would be considerably easier if he were able to apparate, but since he isn’t going to risk it – or risk testing Credence over such a distance – Percival gets them both dressed suitably for the weather and flags down a cab to take them to the station.

He’s gotten so used to going about his days with the pistol holstered against his ribs that it doesn’t even register as a strange addition anymore. Credence barely looks twice either. Using it isn’t something he’s looking forward to doing, but given how well Credence has improved over their weeks of training, it’s looking like less and less of a possibility, especially with the lack of any worse news from the Goldstein sisters. 

The train ride is relatively uneventful, save for the nasty half-lucid dream he has against Credence’s shoulder. The train car gives a particularly violent shudder and Percival lurches upright, a hand going to the holster under his coat before he registers Credence’s hands on his own instead of the murky phantasm wearing his face prowling after him in the dream.

“It’s alright,” Credence whispers, clutching both of his hands and gazing at him almost imploringly. “It was just a dream. It’s alright.”

Percival exhales in a rush, then gives Credence’s fingers a gentle squeeze of reassurance. He knows it was just a dream. He does. It would help if he didn’t have them in the middle of the damn day, but that’s apparently outside of his control.

He gives Credence a wan smile and nods, settling back into his seat and gazing out of the window at the countryside rushing by. 

When they arrive at the platform, it’s a short walk into the town proper and then to the outskirts where the townsfolk only venture if they’re visiting elderly relatives or in need of fresh air.

His own wand isn’t a Jonker creation, but given that Credence needs as much to separate himself from their tangled past as possible, Percival would rather see him start looking here. After all, Jonker is wonderfully patient with new wizards, no matter their age.

The emporium itself is a bit drab looking on the outside; sort of how one might envision an aging post office. But, as with all wizarding establishments, the exterior is masked to dissuade curious No-Maj’s from looking too closely. The interior is just as spectacular as any wandmaker’s base of operations. And no sooner has he drawn the door open for Credence does Jonker come bustling forward, waving them both inside.

He stands aside for most of the process, though he does give Credence’s hand a gentle squeeze of encouragement before Jonker takes him back to the wand stock. It’s an unspoken rule – when it comes to wizards and witches receiving their first wand – not to question the witch or wizard’s age. Granted, it’s a bit odd for a young adult to be arriving in search of their first wand, but it’s not completely unheard of. 

Some rare families choose to school their children at home for the most part. Other times, a witch or wizard born into a mixed family won’t have the ability to obtain their wand until later in life. Percival has seen just about every variation of the situation over his years in MACUSA’s service.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a proverbial shockwave traveling through the room, reverberating through the very core of him and launching him to his feet in an instant.

“Credence?” 

Silence.

Then, there are footsteps from the stockroom and Credence emerges, Jonker trailing behind him with a satisfied smile on his aging features. 

In Credence’s grip is a deep brown wand – approximately twelve or so inches by the look of it and imbued with a traditional Jonker wampus cat hair as the core – and Percival is struck by how _right_ it looks in his hand.

 

“Oh my boy…” Percival takes a step forward, only to be met by the full force of Credence’s enthusiasm, complete with a clumsy smear of Credence’s lips against the corner of his mouth which makes him jolt. 

He holds onto Credence, almost desperately, then reluctantly lets him go when Jonker clears his throat a polite distance away. A pat between Credence’s shoulder blades seems appropriate, but Percival keeps his hand at the small of Credence’s back as Jonker gives the boy a brief introduction to his specific wand; the sorts of things one needs to be aware of when dealing with a wand of this length constructed of this particular wood.

Once Jonker finishes, Percival fishes out the appropriate coins from his pocket and waves away Credence’s halfhearted fussing. The wand paid in full, he bids Jonker sincere thanks and a good day, and leads Credence out the door into a day that somehow seems brighter than when they arrived.

➳

He’d almost written the slip in Jonker’s emporium off as a simple accident, but Credence finds a way to slip his hand into Percival’s and keep it there for the entire journey back to New York.

➳

As Percival hands over the cabbie’s money and they step out onto the curb outside his home, he can practically feel the waves of restless energy bleeding from Credence’s gangly form. Part of it probably has to do with Credence’s magic and an inability to keep it entirely leashed when he’s so tightly wound. Then again, Credence’s comment about being able to “sense” Percival’s magic may hold some water, because his dormant strength might be picking up on and responding in kind to Credence’s enthusiasm.

“Percival…” Credence glances at him before they mount the steps to his front door.

The boy – though he’s hardly a boy, is he – looks flushed and somehow utterly sure of himself in a way that’s so far removed from the Credence of old that Percival almost has to do a double-take. 

“Yes,” Percival’s voice nearly drops out from under him, even on a single syllable, but he gets the door open on the first try out of sheer luck and crowds Credence against it the moment it bangs home into the frame.

He breathes deeply against Credence’s throat, relearning his scent and taking in all the undertones that have come from living in this space: fresh cotton, a hint of musky cologne, smog from the city, and the salt of his sweat. Credence whines, his bagged parcel dropping to the floor as he gets both hands scrabbling up Percival’s back.

 

“The things you do to me…” Percival rumbles, opening his mouth over the wild fluttering of Credence’s pulse before bringing his tongue into play and sucking lightly at the pale skin. That earns him a lost noise from Credence, who manages to get one hand up into his hair and curl into a fist, tight enough to have tears springing at the corners of Percival’s eyes.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease-“ Credence groans, his entire body undulating as Percival slides a hand down his back and presses their torsos firmly together. 

He can feel Credence stiffening against his thigh, which only makes him hold Credence tighter, wanting to feel every inch of that gangly body against his own. 

Percival makes the executive decision to start moving them towards the bedroom – or the couch if they can’t make it that far – but the progress gets a little stilted when clumsy hands are suddenly all over his vest and shirt. He endeavors to keep them moving, but almost trips over the carpet when Credence suddenly ducks down and latches on to the patch of skin bared by his unbuttoned collar.

“ _Credence_..” Percival hisses, backing himself against the nearest arm of the couch since he can’t see them getting much further than this at the rate Credence is taking things.

The boy suddenly gives him a bit of a push, and they’re collapsing onto the couch proper in a pile of awkwardly angled limbs.

Credence renews his attack on the two layers of buttons and fabrics once they’ve regained their horizontal equilibrium and Percival finds himself briefly content with lying back and giving Credence his head. His chest is bared in short order, and Credence pauses for a moment, staring down at the expanse of skin he’s just revealed.

“Not very pretty, is it?”

“I thought..” Credence brushes his fingertips over the raised lines of scars marring the topography of Percival’s torso. “Can’t magic fix this?”

Percival barely refrains from flinching, since he realizes now why Credence paused. His palms and back aren’t exactly pleasant to examine, at least to the informed eye. Stands to reason why he thought that maybe a certain amount of magic could be enough to erase them from memory.

“Magic can do a great deal of very useful things,” Percival says carefully. “Unfortunately, equating _magic_ with _miracle_ is going to end in disappointment for everyone.”

He waits until he has Credence’s eye contact again, then reaches up and lays a palm against the boy’s cheek. “We all have scars, Credence, in some form or another. It’s up to us how we choose to live with him.”

After giving Credence a few moments to digest that, he carefully draws Credence back down and pulls him into a slow kiss. It’s their first, actually, if one doesn’t count the slip in Jonker’s emporium. And it is _transcendent_.

Credence is squirming against him by the end of it, a low whine on every exhale once they separate just enough to breathe. Percival reaches down between them to tug Credence’s breeches open and gently draw him out through his drawers.

“Is that alright?” He whispers against Credence’s mouth, drinking in each gasp and whimper Credence makes.

Credence nods frantically, fumbling with his hands to mirror Percival’s gesture. It takes him a few tries but he gets his cock out and Percival growls low in his throat at the pressure and friction, inexperienced as it is. He spreads his legs as far as the back of the couch can allow, giving Credence space to move between them. Credence takes to that easily enough and stretches out over him – cock to cock – and starts to jerk his hips in a rhythm that seems as unpredictable as it does instinctual.

Percival slides a hand between them once again, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks, then opens his mouth against Credence’s for a lush kiss. 

Everything about this is new and decadent and such a release that a small part of him can’t help wondering what might’ve happened if they’d never managed to reach this point. What if Credence hadn’t been brave enough? What if he hadn’t been weak enough in the right moment?

Credence stutters out a pitched whine, followed by a gasp of his name and Percival is immediately aware of a rush of warmth over his knuckles.

“Gorgeous,” he rasps, stroking them both as he brute-forces himself down the final furlong. “ _Credence-!_ ”

He comes around to find Credence’s face tucked into his throat and the rest of him sprawled atop his body. With most of him crushed against the back of the couch, it’s not exactly the most comfortable position, but Percival couldn’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be than right here.

“My boy…” he murmurs, reaching up to stroke Credence’s hair with his clean hand before drifting off into a pleasant haze.

➳

“Graves!”

_Bang!_

“I swear to Merlin- _Graves!_ ”

Percival snaps awake, staring around at the familiar surroundings of his bedroom as he takes a moment to reorient.

He eventually convinced Credence to get up off the couch and share a bath – in the interest of saving time, clearly – before retiring to the bedroom together. Credence is still beside him, and sound asleep if the quiet snores are anything to judge by…

…and the shouting belongs to one Porpentina Goldstein.

“ _Shit!_ ” Percival barks as the sound of his front door splintering inward reaches his ears.

He leaps out of bed, throwing his coat on over his pajamas and reaching for one of the guns in the double holster slung over the back of his desk chair. Magic or not, he can still defend his own damn property.

There’s a brief scuffle in the entryway, followed by pounding feet headed down the hall, and Percival scarcely flinches as he pulls the trigger once he sights the dark figure coming towards the bedroom. It’s too tall and masculine to be either of the sisters, and if this is one of their colleagues, then he chose his new alliance poorly. 

The man falls with a startled cry – clearly not having anticipated a supposedly harmless wizard being armed with No-Maj weaponry - and Percival barely spares him a glance. Credence is in danger.

“W-What’s happening?” Credence peers out from behind the edge of the bed, clearly having taken cover while Percival was otherwise occupied. 

“Our friends from MACUSA decided to pay us a visit,” Percival scowls, checking the rounds in both pistols as he slips the full holster over his shoulders. “You stay here until everything stops, understood? If you hear noises, if you hear shouting, you _stay here_.” 

Credence gazes at him, eyes wide and dark. “Understood.”

Percival nods and tears himself away with a considerable amount of effort. He closes the bedroom door, then charges down the hall, shouting for the sisters as he goes.

“Queenie!” He keeps one pistol at the ready, convinced there’ll be another figure lunging out of the dark leading to the front door. “Are you both alright?”

It takes a minute but she responds to the affirmative. 

“Can’t wait to tell Seraphina you sleep like the dead,” Tina growls, standing on his stoop with her wand held ready. “What happened in there?”

“Disposed of an unwanted guest,” he says, gesturing with his pistol. “It’s less elegant but it does get the job done, I’ll say that much for No-Maj’s.”

She gives him a dubious look, but they’re quickly interrupted by Queenie’s warning cry. Percival grabs Tina and hurls them back through the doorway as a deflected _Crucio_ sends glass shattering in a graceful arc from the windows. 

They’re scrambling to their feet as several figures come racing towards the steps, intent on taking advantage of the distraction. Percival takes out the first one with one shot, but the second one gets wise and sends his pistol flying with an expert _Expelliarmus!_ Tina covers him with a quick deflection that sends the man flying out into the street, but he won’t be down for long. And judging by what he can see outside the doorway, they still have at least four unwanted visitors, which means six were sent, since two have already been dealt with.

One abandons trying to engage with Queenie down the sidewalk and joins up with his three fellows as they brace for another attempt at the front door. 

Percival draws his second pistol and Tina fires off an _Expelliarmus_ , but they hardly manage to move a step forward before a swarming mass of black explodes from inside the apartment, flying over their heads and barreling straight into the four stunned would-be assassins with a hair-raising shriek. 

“ _No!_ ” Percival screams, lurching upright and fumbling with useless hands to try and think of something that would combat the Obscurial that he’d believed Credence had succeeded in leaving dormant after fully embracing his magic.

Queenie is sheltering a safe distance away across the street, staring at the seething black mass tearing the four men apart with huge eyes. 

“Credence!”

Percival rips the holsters off and cautiously approaches the swirling mass; already well aware that it’s too late for the men but desperately hoping Credence didn’t do this to effectively sacrifice himself. The thought lies cold and heavy in Percival’s gut.

“Credence, I need you to come back to me,” he says, abject fear for Credence making his voice waver. “I need you to come back to me.”

The swirling mass quiets somewhat, and Percival makes an effort to ignore the inert bodies as he continues approaching step-by-step. He holds out both hands – palms up – and tries to make himself as unthreatening as possible.

“’t hurt you.”

Percival blinks, tilting his head as the mass’s motion continues to slow and condense into a smaller form.

“What was that?” He tries, gentle. “I didn’t catch that, Credence.”

“I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

Credence’s voice, without a doubt. And it’s coming from the very center of the swirling indistinct blackness. 

“Credence, I do not care what they were going to do to me if you’ve been hurt now,” he says, careful and just a touch frustrated. “Are you alright?”

No response to that, but the inky blackness Percival remembers from the cell keeps condensing and shrinking until there’s a shape beginning to take form that distinctly resembles Credence.

“Credence…” Percival reaches out, fingers trembling just slightly.

The boy’s head lifts, and the features are all there, though his skin still needs to take on a regular tone, rather than the blue-ish hue mixed in with whatever the Obscurial is comprised of.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you,” he says again, liquid eyes wide and desperately willing Percival to understand him.

And Percival does. On a truly fundamental level. He steps forward, arms still outstretched, and only breathes again when Credence steps into them, allowing himself to be embraced.

“Credence?” 

Queenie’s voice, much closer than where she’d been standing across the street. Percival glances up, offering a wan smile. 

“He’s alright,” he says, carding his fingers through Credence’s thick hair. “He’s alright.”

Once Credence stops shivering and once Percival trusts in his own voice again, he carefully pulls back and gives Credence a thorough onceover. There’s nothing he can see that would indicate injury or stress from the transformation into the Obscurial, which just makes him all the more disbelieving.

“…he can control it,” Tina murmurs, standing at Percival’s shoulder, as she did whenever they were in the field together.

Percival glances at her, brows drawing up into a frown.

“He had to go through us to get to them, right? He didn’t touch us,” she gestures animatedly at the ruined doorframe. “I didn’t feel him at all. He went directly over us to attack those bastards. He can control it now.”

Her awe is quickly shifting into a shocked sort of pride, and Percival finds himself in agreement with her. He cups his hand against the crown of Credence’s skull, then leans back in order to meet the boy’s gaze. Credence peers at him cautiously and Percival offers a warm smile.

“Is she right?” He asks gently. “Can you control it?”

“I don’t know,” Credence flicks his gaze between the three of them, then tightens his arms around Percival’s middle. “I…I remember knowing I had to protect you, so I moved around you. I saw them and I had to get rid of them.”

Percival nods, gently coaxing Credence to lay his cheek back on his shoulder. “I think you can, Credence. I think this may very well be your miracle.”

Queenie laughs delightedly and quickly joins her sister in embracing both Credence and Percival on either side. Percival tightens his embrace around Credence, then presses a firm kiss into that thick dark hair.

Sirens wail in the distance, but Percival can already see MACUSA Aurors apparating down the block, cordoning the street off so they can clean this mess up with the No-Maj’s being none the wiser. Most of the lower-ranking Aurors are gently coaxing the No-Maj’s brave enough to see what’s happened out of the way with subtle _Obliviates_ , though Percival briefly catches sight of Seraphina herself striding past to deal with the traitors herself.

They hold eye contact for a moment and she offers him a small smile. The gulf between them is still present, but tonight seems to have shrunk it incrementally. 

Percival exhales slowly, then buries himself back in Credence’s embrace and manages to get his arms around Queenie and Tina both, holding them all together while their laughter carries his heart higher than he’s felt in years.

Miracle, indeed.


End file.
